Perfect Aim
by Sprints 100
Summary: Written for the AKWNM message board's contest... 'There's nothin' I can't hit.' A fic in which Snipeshooter gets those Havana cigars he wanted. [One shot]


**Author's Note:** This was written for a contest on the 'Angry Kids With No Money' message boards. It's a pretty cool site... the link is in my profile if you want to check it out. But anyway, here was the contest description: "Write a story about how one of the newsies get their wish from the song 'King of New York.'...It can be any genre and any length."  
I've been having some trouble with a story I'm writing... writer's block, and such... so I figured this would get my mind off of it. I sat down and fired out a whole one shot. So here it is... Not my favorite, but enjoy anyway!

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own pretty much nothing in this story. Bummer.  
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"That one! Do him next!" Les was positively bouncing with excitement as he pointed down to the street.

"Gray hat?" His companion, a boy who went by the name of Snipeshooter, asked.

"Yeah!"

The second boy, not much older than Les in years, stroked his prized slingshot (proudly stolen off a drunk from Brooklyn, the thing must've been priceless), and raised it up in front of his face. He pulled the strap back and took careful aim, one eye squeezed shut and his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth. Les seemed like he couldn't make up his mind about what to watch, his gaze quickly flitting from Snipeshooter to the boy's unfortunate target.

Snipeshooter suddenly let go of the strap, and a small pebble whistled through the air as he yelled, "Duck!"

Les had but a moment for the order to register and for him to obey before they heard a deep voice let out a sudden surprised yell. The boys waited a few seconds before peeking over the ledge of the Lodging House roof. Below them they saw the man in the gray hat spinning madly and clutching the back of his thigh, desperately searching for a culprit. They both ducked again before giving into their laughter.

They were startled when a third male, older than both boys, spoke up. They had forgotten he was there. "Amazin'. That's eight for eight, Snipes." He looked casually impressed.

"They don't call me Snipeshooter for nothin', Jack." The younger boy said proudly.

"Well, I know, but _eight for eight_? You been practicin'? You'll be givin' Spot a run for his money pretty soon."

Snipeshooter beamed with pride as Jack winked at Les, who couldn't help but smile at being let in on the joke. Nobody beat Spot at anything, everyone knew that. Jack was just flattering Snipeshooter.

"Now I get ta choose yer next 'victim', Snipes." Jack told him.

"Go for it. There's nothin' I can't hit." Snipeshooter said confidently.

Jack strode over to the edge of the roof, his eyes scanning the crowd below. With one more confused glance behind him, the man in the gray hat stalked off, looking to be in much more of a hurry than before. Jack's eyes locked on someone and he smirked.

"See Race down there?"

Snipeshooter's eyes followed where Jack was pointing. "Yeah..."

"Hit 'im." He got two very surprised looks.

"You want me to hit _Race_?" Snipeshooter gaped at Jack, who nodded.

All three looked down at Racetrack, coolly leaning against a building, cigar in hand, clearly trying to make conversation with a pretty girl near him.

"Yeah. I do." Jack answered.

"Won't he be mad though?" Les spoke up.

Snipeshooter suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. He's a little angry at me already... stealing his cigar this mornin' an' all..."

"He's pretty far away, too. Pick someone better, Jack." Les decided.

"Naw, I want you to hit Race," Jack said, his mind made up. "Look at this! It's a perfect oppurtunity!"

Racetrack was starting to walk farther away from the Lodging House, arm in arm with the girl he had just met and apparently charmed. Les was right; it would be hard. The oppurtunity was fading fast.

Jack saw the hesitant look on Snipeshooter's face and knew he would refuse... unless given an incentive. And this was just too good to pass up.

"A quarter says you can't hit 'im." Jack offered.

Snipeshooters eyes widened momentarily, and he broke into a wide grin. "How 'bout you buy me those nice cigars instead? The Havanas. They cost a quarter." He assured Jack.

"Done." Jack agreed.

Snipeshooter lightly brushed his hand over the slingshot again (his signature good luck charm), before bringing it up and aiming a ninth time, this time at a moving target much farther away. Jack and Les were practically hanging off the ledge to get a better look.

Snipeshooter felt confident in his aim and let go. The pebble flew through the air and hit his target square in the back. Race's painful yell carried all the way up to the roof and was heard even above Les and Jack's amused laughter. The girl Racetrack had been escorting looked confused and hurried away, while Racetrack grimaced, his arm awkwardly reaching between his shoulder blades, and tried to coax her back.

"You won't have ta steal from Race again. I'll have dem cigars tomorrow for ya, Snipes. The Havanas. That was priceless..."

Snipeshooter swelled with pride as Jack repeated, "Amazin'..."


End file.
